


Wet (Dreams and Stains)

by therealfroggy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:39:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/therealfroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House has been having all these dreams, and Chase is so annoyingly present in all of them!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet (Dreams and Stains)

_“Gregory,” the blonde moans, “Gregory! Please, oh, please don't stop!”_

_His perfect hair is dishevelled and frizzy as House's hard thrusts pushes him up against the wall repeatedly. House kisses the Australian hard and fucks him harder yet, making him thrash about and moan deep in his throat._

_“Greg! Greeeeg!”_

_“Fuck!”_

_House explodes inside the younger man, coming in intense waves as the gorgeous body draws him all in until he's spent every drop. His heart is thumping so hard he can hardly hear the blonde's pretty moans..._

Waking with a start, House realizes someone is pounding viciously at his office door. Confused and sleep-ridden, he forces his eyes to focus at the door and sees Cuddy, cleavage ever present along with her scowl, darkening his doorstep – quite literally.

House gestures for her to come in, not bothering to get up or put the medical journal down. He leaves it lying in his lap where, miraculously, it stayed while he slept. He usually thrashes about a lot more in his sleep.

“Come to enquire after your missing panties?” House snarks, grinning at her. “It was Foreman, I had nothing to do with it.”

Cuddy bristles. “Were you _sleeping_ on the job?”

House shrugs. “I was reading this very interesting article about gene mutation caused by long-term exposure to angry, feminist, nymphomaniac executives. Apparently, it causes sleeping disorders.”

“Oh, ha ha, aren't you the very epitome of mature male intelligence. Here,” she says, throwing a file onto his desk. “Your next case. Read it and weep.”

Then she leaves his office, in just as much a huff and giving him a great view of her ass in that tight skirt. That House hasn't been interested in for years; at least, not since he hired his team.

Throwing the journal to the desk on top of Cuddy's assignment, House is about to get out of his seat when he notices the stain currently drying on his trousers.

_Oh. My. God._

Did he just come in his pants from dreaming about fucking Chase? No way. No, no way.

_Yes way, you old pervert._

House realizes he is screwed when Cameron and Chase come pounding on his door before he has time to change into his extra pair of jeans. He remains standing at the window, back to them, to mask the stain, his newly discovered blush, and the fact that he's just about to get hard over Chase again.

***

His three employees are looking at him expectantly, and House groans in defeat.

“Fine, fine, I'll come with. But only because if you're all going to work with hangovers tomorrow, then I need to set a good example and be in even worse condition, or Cuddy might think I have no control over my workers at all,” he says, and Cameron laughs delightedly.

He'd love to just get hard by looking at her. Not because that would be a very constructive work situation, but because if Gregory House could get hard over Cameron, then Gregory House wouldn't have to worry so much about getting hard over Chase.

After work that day, they all go to a bar nearby the hospital. Foreman drinks whisky, deciding to be sophisticated and mature. Cameron has lots of pink stuff in tall glasses that House doesn't even want to consider trying. Chase drinks beer, and lots of it.

House drinks whatever he can lay his hands on; the others suggest drinks and before the night is turning into day, he's had vodka shots, tequila shots, Submarines, Irish Car Bombs, Martinis, and some of Foreman's whisky.

And then, some time just after one o'clock in the morning, when Cameron is giggling and dancing with anyone in the vicinity of the dance floor, and Foreman is glaring glumly into his whisky, Chase sidles up to House and hands him yet another drink.

“Here,” he says with a saucy wink, “I think you need one o' these. It's called an Orgasm.”

House's eyes are about to come out of his skull, but Chase grins and goes off to dance with Cameron. An hour later they stumble out of the bar, and retreat to their respective apartments with wishes for a good night all around.

That night, House dreams of Chase screaming at the top of his lungs as the older man plunges into him, sending him into climax. A loud one.

***

House is officially going insane, he decides, as he remains seated at his desk to cover up the fact that he's growing hard in his jeans. He lets Cameron handle the markers and she smiles happily at him, while Chase gives his hair a toss so it flutters around his head before settling back into perfection.

“Favouritism,” the blonde says, laughing.

House feels how his cheeks are about to heat up, and reaches for his water bottle. This is becoming a serious problem.

Over the past two weeks, he's dreamt of Chase on his knees on House's bedroom floor. Begging for it. He's dreamt of the Australian bent over his desk, against the wall, on his knees with House's cock in his mouth (oh, the laundry he had to do after that one), jerking off in front of the older man...

He even had one where he, Chase and Cuddy were having a threesome, but he's long since categorized that one as a nightmare caused by bad pork.

And every time he has come in his pants from the dream alone.

Snapping at his subordinates to concentrate and think about the case, House decides he has to stop this – even if it means firing Chase. He can't go on like this.

***

They've solved the case and Cameron insists they celebrate. Foreman and Chase wholeheartedly agree, and this time, House doesn't need much persuasion. This time he's resolved to get himself drunk enough to pass out and not dream at all.

However, this time he only has absinthe (something he hasn't drunk since his youth) and instead of passing out, he feels elated and carefree until they're thrown out of the bar around four in the morning.

“We've got, what, four hours before work starts?” says a drunken Foreman. “How about we just carry on at my place?”

But by the time they've decided that, no, they need at least an hour or two of sleep, the cabs are all gone and Cameron is freezing in her nylon stockings.

It's House who suggests they just go back to the hospital and sleep it off there, in one of the on-call rest rooms. Personally, he plans on spending the night in his very comfortable chair. To a drunken party of four doctors, this seems like an excellent idea and so they ramble along the few blocks to the hospital, finally stumbling into the hospital.

House never notices where Cameron and Foreman go. He doesn't notice Chase, either, until the younger man suddenly stands right behind him outside House's office.

“Why are you here?” House asks, entering his office without turning around. He plops down in his chair and lets his cane clatter to the floor.

“Because you suggested we sleep it off here,” Chase grins, and then he staggers drunkenly over to House's desk and leans on it as if trying to stay upright. “And you're funny.”

House frowns. “Funny?”

“You're never embarrassed. But you were embarrassed when I gave you an Orgasm,” Chase muses, then laughs loudly at his own pun. “I'm sorry I sexually harassed you, doctor House. I only meant you should try the drink.”

House stares morosely at his desktop. That's it, he's going to have to fire Chase. Or the younger man will quit when he hears what House needs to say.

“I dream about you.” That's it, get it all out while you can. You'll feel better afterwards, and he'll quit and you'll all be fine. “I dream about you, and then I come in my pants.”

Chase's mouth is hanging open, gaping like someone took him out of his aquarium. “But, no! Hey! That's not what we were talking about,” Chase insists, sliding onto the desk until he's almost sitting upright. “I was sexually harassing you. I'm sorry.”

“And I'm sorry I dream about you,” House says, contemplatively this time. This is rather an interesting subject, isn't it? “I mean, not that the dreams are unpleasant – far from it, as you may guess – but I really should be dreaming about Cameron instead, you know?”

Chase looks sullen, all of a sudden. “Why? Because she's prettier than me?”

House laughs. “No, because she wants me and then I wouldn't have to come in my pants from... from... could it be desperation? Or male menopause? It certainly isn't puberty, doctor Chase, hm?”

“It could be my hand,” Chase states boldly.

House's alcohol-addled mind can't quite keep up. “You mean, you've been in my bedroom and jacked me off in my sleep?”

Chase giggles then. “No, you dolt. I mean, it could be me making you come in your pants. It could be me right now...”

House squints at the younger man for a minute or so, then shakes his head as if to clear it up. “Funny. Now go write your resignation, or your law suit or something. I'm going to go to sleep.”

House closes his eyes, and hears the younger man slide off his desk. _Oh, the desk. Mm, almost forgotten that one._ But instead of hearing his office door open and close, he hears heavy breathing and careful padding of feet against his floor.

“Chase?”

“House,” is the neutral reply. House keeps his eyes shut because if he's lucky, this is another wet dream and he's going to come in his pants again.

Oh, there's a palm on his crotch. He can feel the warmth of it through his jeans. House sighs and leans back, waiting for...

Well, not that. Not Chase kissing him like that. Those plump, plump lips are closing off his air supply with a wet heat that just has House groaning, thinking of what else that heat could close off. Like his... hm. Now that bears some thinking about.

He still keeps his eyes closed, because this is a wet dream, it has to be, and if he opens them, then there will be no Chase rubbing him through his clothes, no Chase panting against his throat, and no Chase smelling of expensive _eau de cologne_ so close to him.

Imagining Chase bent over his desk again, House feels himself grow harder and his breath comes in harsh pants now.

Another kiss, another grind, and his cock is ready to burst through his jeans. House groans into the younger man's mouth and places a hand on top of the Australian's on his groin. Their hands working in tandem, House can feel himself filling and hardening and _pleasuring_.

“House,” Chase whispers, “can I...”

And then the blonde climbs into his lap; House touches him tentatively and realizes the younger man's back is pressing against his own chest. And that his ass is grinding down onto House's clothed erection.

Forcing his eyes open, he sees Chase still there, still panting, still heavy in his lap. He almost laughs with the realization that his wet dream is a little too real, but that doesn't matter right now, does it? He's hard. Hard against Chase's ass. Oh, yes.

Reaching around the younger man, he finds the answering hardness under the young doctor's trousers. He rubs it through the cloth, rubs it in firm circles and tries pressing the younger man's hips down. He needs more contact.

Chase happily complies and begins to grind his hips down, rubbing against House's erection. House palms him and Chase gives a whimpering sound of agreement; he doesn't know he's simply part of a wet dream to the older man. He's just loving the here and now.

Oh, oh, oh. House feels like he might just explode every second now. The younger man's firm ass is so plump and hot on him, and the way he's grinding it down onto House's cock is just...

“Chase,” House pants, “I actually think I'm going to come.”

But when House does come, it isn't because Chase's ass is so perfect in his lap. It's because Chase starts whimpering and begging just like he does in House's wet dreams; his head falls back onto the older man's shoulder and he moans for House to please, please...

“Harder?”

House is panting into the younger man's shirt, feeling his come pumping into his pants, into his jeans. And then Chase begs for it; harder, he says. House groans and rubs the other man hard through his trousers, hissing dirty words into his ear like, “You're so fucking sexy, Chase; I've wanted your fine ass for so long now...”

House can feel the stickiness spread beneath his palm in a sudden eruption of heat, and Chase is writhing in his lap, moaning and begging again.

“House, bloody fucking hell, House!”

_Oh, you feel so good..._

Even through all their clothing, House can feel their heat and their come and it makes his head spin (or that might be the booze). “Chase...” he breathes.

Finally allowing himself to just collapse back in his chair, House is still panting as Chase gets unsteadily to his feet and promptly collapses to the floor.

“Shit,” Chase mutters, then curls into a ball at House's feet and yawns. “'M tired.”

House feels rather sleepy himself. “Mm.”

And they drift off; House in the chair and Chase actually on the floor, and when they're woken up in the morning by Cuddy (about to sputter up a lung in her outrage) they're just a bit too slow to cover up the embarrassing stains on their trousers.

Cuddy leaves without another word, a magnificent shade of crimson colouring her face.


End file.
